Steele’s Redemption

Chapter 3

Emma

I woke to the smell of coffee and the distant clang of a wrench against metal.

For a second I didn't know where I was. Then the ache in my ribs reminded me, and the rest came flooding back—the hedge, the blood, the stranger who'd knelt in front of me without touching me first.

I sat up slowly, testing my body's limits. My ribs protested. My face felt tight and swollen. But I was alive, and I was somewhere Derek couldn't reach.

That thought alone was worth the pain.

The office door was cracked open. Through it, I could see the shop floor—rows of half-built bikes, morning light slanting through high windows, catching dust motes in the air. It looked like a different world from the one I'd left behind.

I found the small bathroom he'd shown me last night and studied myself in the mirror. Bruised cheek. Split lip. Eyes that looked older than twenty-three. I splashed water on my face, tried to smooth my hair into something presentable, and told myself I would not fall apart today.

I'd done enough falling apart.

When I stepped back into the office, he was there, holding two paper cups.

"Coffee," he said. "Didn't know how you take it."

"However's fine." I took the cup, careful not to let our fingers linger.

He studied me for a moment—not intrusive, just assessing, the way he'd looked at my injuries last night. "How are the ribs?"

"Sore."

"I want you seen by someone today. Not the ER—too many questions, too much paperwork that could end up somewhere it shouldn't. I know a clinic. Doctor there doesn't ask things she doesn't need to know."

I hesitated, then realized he still didn't know who I was. He'd asked me nothing but questions last night—what happened, what I needed—and never once my name.

"I'm Emma," I said. "I should've said that already."

Something eased in his face, like the omission had been bothering him too. "Jake."

"I know. Your guys said it last night."

"Fair." He almost smiled. "So, Emma—clinic. You want to go, or you want to skip it?"

The question itself startled me. Derek never asked. He decided, and I complied.

"I don't have insurance," I said. "I don't have much of anything."

"It's handled if you want to go. You can pay me back if that makes it easier. But it's your call, not mine."

I thought about the ache in my side, the way I'd been favoring it without realizing. "Okay. I want to go."

He nodded once, no triumph in it, just acknowledgment. "Eat something first. Then we'll head over."

---

The break room smelled like burnt coffee and motor oil. Jake set a box of donuts on the table, along with a granola bar he found in a drawer like he wasn't sure what else I might eat.

"Not exactly a balanced breakfast," he said.

"It's food. That's enough." I meant it. I couldn't remember the last meal that didn't come with the fear of Derek watching how much I put on my plate.

While I ate, Jake leaned against the counter, arms crossed, glancing at the door more than at me. Still listening for trouble, even here.

"You said last night you don't have anywhere else to go," he said.

"I don't."

"You can stay here for now. Couch in the office isn't much, but it's safe, and nobody knows to look for you here yet. If you want something else eventually, we'll figure that out. Your call."

*Your call.* He kept saying it, and I didn't know yet whether that scared me or steadied me.

"I don't want to be a problem," I said.

"You're not a problem. You're a person who needs somewhere to land. That's different."

I wanted to believe the distinction mattered to him as much as he made it sound like it did.

"I also need work," I said. "Not charity. Work."

Something shifted in his expression—approval, maybe, or recognition. "You any good with numbers? Filing?"

"I managed a household budget for four years while being told I couldn't understand money. I think I can handle invoices."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Fair enough. You start today, if you're up for it after the clinic. Cash, fifteen an hour, until we sort out something more official."

Relief hit harder than I expected. Not because of the money—though God knew I needed it—but because it meant I had a reason to be here that wasn't just his charity. A foothold.

"Thank you," I said.

"Don't thank me. Thank yourself for walking in here instead of somewhere worse."

---

The clinic was small, tucked above a laundromat, the kind of place that didn't ask questions it didn't need answered. Jake sat in the waiting room while a nurse led me back.

The doctor was brisk but kind, pressing gently along my ribs, checking my cheekbone, my lip, asking about pain on a scale I didn't know how to answer honestly anymore. Nothing broken, she said. Bad bruising, one rib possibly cracked, nothing that wouldn't heal with rest and time.

"Time," I repeated, like the word was foreign.

"Time," she agreed, and didn't ask what I was recovering from. I was grateful for that more than she could know.

When I came back out, Jake stood immediately, searching my face for the verdict before I gave it.

"Bruised, not broken," I said. "Mostly."

"Mostly's good."

"She wants me resting when I can. Not lifting anything heavy for a couple weeks."

"Copy that." He held the door for me. "We'll figure out light duty until then."

---

Back at the shop, the door swung open and a woman walked in—tall, dark-haired, tattoos climbing both arms, wearing the same kind of leather vest Jake had on.

"Heard we got a new hire," she said, eyes flicking over my face without flinching at the bruises.

"Emma, this is Raven," Jake said. "Runs the front desk, keeps this place from falling apart. Raven, Emma. She's doing admin."

Raven poured herself coffee, studying me with open curiosity rather than pity. "You drink?"

"Coffee, mostly."

"We'll work on that." She smirked, then softened. "Filing system in this place is a disaster. If you can make sense of it, you're a miracle worker."

"I'll try."

"That's all anybody asks." She glanced at Jake. "Nash needs you out front."

"Yeah." Jake looked at me. "Raven can show you around. Light duty today, doctor's orders."

"Okay."

He left, and Raven leaned against the counter, watching me with the same appraising look Jake had given me last night—except hers held something warmer.

"He doesn't bring just anyone through that door," she said. "You must've made an impression."

"I was bleeding on the sidewalk."

"Plenty of people drive past that." She set down her mug. "Come on. Let's get you oriented."

I followed her out onto the shop floor, into the noise and motion of a world I didn't understand yet but suddenly wanted to.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, I had somewhere to be tomorrow.

Maybe that was enough to start with.